


But At What Price

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: Sometimes, Dolokhov thinks it could have ended differently.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxSteggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSteggie/gifts).



Dolokhov thinks that it could have ended differently. 

He likes to blame Anatole for it. Anatole – careless, thoughtless, self-indulgent Anatole – is easy to blame. But when he is alone with a bottle of vodka, a pipe, and his own thoughts and conscience, Dolokhov has to admit that he was complicit too. It was easier to tease and bait Anatole, to consider him a fool, to hide his true thoughts and put up a front of a happy-go-lucky rogue with no intent for anything but merrymaking and mischief. Easier than to expose his feelings, make his pride vulnerable to attack. Easier than to love Anatole openly. 

He thinks of all the chances he had: the first drunken night they met, the first time he ever saw Anatole cry, after his duel with Pierre, before the elopement. He thinks of holding Anatole’s hand as they ran from the police, of stroking hair out of Anatole’s face, of waking up together in the same room but on different pieces of furniture – so close but so far at the same time. 

He tells himself he helped with the elopement to keep Anatole safe. But he could have stopped it earlier – taken the hand placed on Anatole chest for the sake of feeling his heart beat for Natasha and used it to push Anatole back against the wall, kissed him with ravenous delirium, looked into his eyes and told him, _this has gone too far; we are only playing ourselves._

 __There are a great many things Dolokhov could have done and didn’t. He is not entire sure why. Perhaps he was afraid of rejection – that if he kissed him, Anatole would not kiss him back. Afraid of losing a friendship, of being exposed as _that sort of fellow._ Of all things in life, Dolokhov knows he fears embarrassment and shame the most. 

But perhaps he also fears change. Perhaps they both fear it (as Anatole has no shame to speak of). There is some charm in their mutual heartache, a masochistic sort of pleasure in watching the other walk away time and time again. If that is taken from them, if they are forced to be honest with one another, would they find it exhausting? Would all the things they forgave each other at a distance suddenly become insufferable when laid bare? 

In his dreams, Dolokhov imagines them happy: just the two of them out in the countryside somewhere, riding through sunbathed fields and curling around each other by the fire. He imagines lazy mornings and passionate nights after a neighbor’s party. It is a pretty picture, but deep down he’s afraid of it too – he would get bored too quickly, the sameness of it, the simplicity. 

So he stands in the grey morning light and watches Anatole direct the servants as they load the last of his things onto the carriage. He smiles lightly as Anatole turns to face him and says, “To Petersburg then?”

Anatole returns the smile, though Dolokhov notices the bit of sadness at its edges and it is that sadness that makes him pause, makes him think they could have done something differently. He’s due to report to his company in five days and they march for the front within the week. Anatole’s father will probably get him a staff adjutant posting, somewhere calm and relatively safe. They’re unlikely to see each other until after the war is over, and God knows when and if that will be. 

”To Petersburg,” Anatole echoes after a long, uncertain pause. He blows Dolokhov a kiss and jumps into the carriage, his step much lighter after a night’s sleep than it had been right after his confrontation with Pierre. Dolokhov doesn’t return the gesture or run from the porch, but he waves. It feels final in a way – he had never waved goodbye. Not to Anatole. They never bothered to make their goodbyes mean anything. _It’s just some useless time spent uselessly,_ Anatole used to say, _Why make a big deal of it?_

Why indeed? Why bother? Why change anything when they have been doing this the exact same way for years and neither could claim to be truly unhappy. 

Dolokhov watches the carriage as it drives away from the house and slowly melts into the morning fog. He thinks, _things could_ _have ended differently, but we were both too afraid of change._


End file.
